A Heart Not Easily Broken by M.J. Kane

  Chapter 7

  Beep…beep…beep…

  I growled and slapped off the alarm clock. The image of naked Ebony dissipated. So much for my fantasy.

  I rolled out of bed, grabbed the remote, and turned on the morning news. Damn, another forest fire. The smoke mixed with smog would wreak havoc on my bronchitis, which in turn hurt my wallet. At least there was an alternate stream of revenue.

  Taking the day off was not in my vocabulary. I had too much stored up energy. Since there was no woman in my bed, it was time to get moving.

  I showered, and then grabbed my day planner and rescheduled my customers. Two hundred dollars was now out of reach. I spied the huge red circle on my calendar. Rent was due this week. At least I had earned my part.

  Times like this made me wish my father was like Javan’s. Doctor Simmons was a psychiatrist who sent money anytime his son asked for it. He’d been doing it since we were in college. It had been cool when Javan helped me out when my funds ran low. It was one reason why I rented a house with him. His father would always have his back. We were adults now, careers established, and Javan made good money. It was way past time for him to quit relying on his father. My attention went to the next red circle; the deadline for purchasing my guitar neared. The money I spent on the date with Ebony set me back, but it was well worth it. Just thinking of her made me smile. Yeah, I’d definitely do it again.

  In the meantime, I needed to make money. Several people asked for private guitar lessons, but my busy schedule didn’t allow time for teaching. The smog alert for the next few days gave me time to spare.

  After scheduling two students for lessons in the evening, I grabbed my guitar and sheet music to work on the song I composed for the band.

  An hour later my roommate knocked on my door. I put the guitar pick in between my teeth and made a notation on my sheet music. “What’s up?”

  Javan leaned against the doorjamb. “You got a minute?”

  “Sure.” I set the guitar in its stand and reached for my bottle of water.

  “Did Yasmine Phillips call you about her yard?”

  “Yeah, on Monday. She wasn’t there, but her roommate was.”

  “Oh, yeah? Which one?”

  “Ebony.”

  Javan whistled. “Man, did you check her out? She is fine. I mean, with her body… I’d love to hit that. Yasmine’s my girl, but we’re not exclusive,” he smirked. “She isn’t looking for commitment, just a good time, you know what I mean?” He paused, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Hmm…if Ebony is like that…” His eyes lit up. “Damn, that would be one helluva threesome.”

  It took everything to control my mouth. I could understand why Ebony felt uncomfortable around him. He wouldn’t care that she’s an intelligent woman, because he’d be unable to see past her shapely behind.

  “She’s not a ‘ho, J.” I twisted the cap back on the empty bottle with a vengeance and pitched it into the garbage.

  We had occasional testosterone-based disagreements, but we always worked through them. But when it came to the treatment of women, we’d long since agreed to disagree.

  Javan believed women were good for three things: satisfying his sexual needs, cooking, and bearing his children. Nothing more, nothing less.

  The only thing we had in common was our height. We’re both six-two, though he had a good twenty pounds of muscle on me. Women loved his dark brown skin, hazel eyes, and shoulder-length dreads. He visited the barbershop weekly to keep his goatee trimmed and kept a Jamaican beautician on call to keep his hair done just right. Of course, she was also one of his hook-ups.

  When it came to clothes, Javan was strictly GQ, everything top of the line. He was so stuck on himself it still surprised me we got along.

  If Ebony’s roommate liked casual sex, she and Javan were a perfect match.

  The pretty boy façade was not me. I worked outside, not in an air-conditioned office. I sweated and got dirty, but still took pride in my appearance. My style of dress was casual, laid back. My closet housed jeans, shorts, pullovers, and polo-styled shirts. I kept my face clean-shaven, most of the time, no beard or goatee. Sometimes I let my hair grow until it curled at the nape of my neck. Ladies loved running their fingers through it.

  Javan looked at me with raised eyebrows. “And you know this how?”

  “I took her out Tuesday. She’s nothing like one of your girls, J. Don’t even think about it.” He stared at me silently, meeting my hard gaze with one of his own. “She’s off limits.”

  “You’ve got a thing for her. So it’s like that?”

  “With her, it’s definitely like that.”

  He inclined his head. “Didn’t you get over dating black women after what happened with, what’s her name?” He snapped his fingers.

  “Trina,” I said sourly.

  “Trina, yeah.” He shook his head. “So you’re ready to try again. You’ve got balls, man.” He held out a knuckled hand to bump fists. “Just watch your back this time.”

  “Believe me, I will. There’s something about her. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’ll be different with her. I can feel it.”

  “Good luck. So, do you have your half of the rent?”

  I reached into my nightstand and pulled out a wad of twenties bound together in a rubber band. “Here, count it.”

  “I trust you.” He stuffed the roll into his sports jacket pocket. “What do you have planned this evening?”

  I glanced at the clock beside my bed. “I have an hour left of practice before heading out for a private lesson. Tonight’s band practice. How about you?”

  “Damn, you always have that guitar in your hand. Is it in bed when you…” He made an obscene gesture with his hand.

  I chuckled. “You’re an idiot.”

  He put his hands up. “Hey, I wonder sometimes.”

  “It takes work to make the big bucks.” I reached for the guitar.

  He shook his head. “To each his own. Tonight I’ll be in bed with Yasmine, an insatiable woman while you…” Javan pointed at my guitar and laughed before disappearing down the hallway.

  “Whatever, man.” I grinned and got back to work.